


Mr. Jelly

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Series: The many attributes and workings of Snufkin the Wanderer [2]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Almost Crack But Not Really, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Moomin slowly realizes he's basically a cat, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Sniff still has that cat from the movie, Snufkin is Basically a Cat, just like his dad oof, no beta we die like illiterate men, you don't need to have seen the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:26:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: “Don’t you think Snufkin is a lot like Mr. Jelly here?” Sniff asks from his place on the couch, stroking the kitten on his lap. Moominpappa and Moominmamma both look over from where they’re sat in the kitchen curiously, while Moomin raises an eyebrow.In which Moomin slowly realizes Snufkin acted rather like a cat at times, and eventually, so does everyone else.





	Mr. Jelly

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't turn out as nice as I'd have liked! A little disappointed but I figured I'd post it anyway, since I've already written it...  
> Quick notes before reading:  
> -everything in the separated parenthesis is a past conversation, so I wrote it in past tense, and everything else is in present tense since it's the current part of the story.  
> -Snufkin, like every other character in this excluding Little My, has paws since it's often written like so by Tove. I headcanon him with fur and a tail like a lot of other people do, but you can do as you like.  
> -I reference the movie but not in any way that you'll be lost if you haven't seen it, so don't stress if I mention a comet and you haven't seen the movie.  
> -Snufkin purrs and you can't convince me otherwise! I imagine it's just a quiet vibrating sound, like the hum of a fan, almost. 
> 
> Anyway this isn't my favourite and I almost feel bad about how it turned out but! I hope if you read it you'll enjoy it! I'm excited to be writing more for this show because I've been watching a lot of the 90's version recently and plan to start Moominvalley once I'm done that :)

Moomin had met many people, as many people often come and go from Moominvalley. Some were temporary, and others not- still, the feeling of excitement he got from every new face he founds would always be there, and fade into friendship overtime. He was very good at making friends with anybody he meets, so long as they were nice enough to be made friends with.

Snufkin was one of the people Moomin had met during the night of the comet. First meeting him had lead Moomin to the assumption that he, too, would simply come and go. After spending some time with him, however, he began to feel apprehensive to this idea. Snufkin was so much fun to be around, though he was so different from those he usually hung close to, that Moomin realized fairly quickly that he didn’t want him to go.

Different, to Moomin, didn’t matter much. Everybody he’d met was not as anybody else he’d met at all, though Snufkin was more so than others.

Moomin loved all of his friends, and called everybody he could a friend. The Witch, rude as she could be; the Groke, uncomfortable as her presence was; even Stinky, awful as he could act- they were all Moomin’s friends, for he was not picky, and he knew to accept others for who they were, plan for them to act as themselves, and give them the freedom to do so.

This was a learned trait, something he’d not have even known necessary if not for Snufkin.

 It wasn’t that he was fretful- no, Sniff was plenty of that. He wasn’t brash, neither- Little My was brash enough for the all of Moominvalley. He wasn’t elegant either, which was fine, since Snorkmaiden was elegant enough for the world. No, what made Snufkin special in Moonintroll’s eyes was his uniqueness- he’d never met anybody quite like him, nor did he think he would again or should he like to.

Everything Snufkin did was of his own mannerisms, and though Moomin had never met someone quite as Snufkin as Snufkin himself, his tendencies still managed to feel comfortably familiar.

Familiar… though he could never place how.

Something very Snufkin for Snufkin to do was fish by the streams, any and all he could find. He’d fish, and sometimes it seemed nothing but- Moomin had joked that it was all he ate, and Snufkin hadn’t done enough to dispute it for Moomin to recant the idea.

 

(“Don’t you tire of eating fish?” Moomin asked, watching him reel in a catch. Snufkin tracts up the line and unhooks his dinner slowly, fully focused on the task.

“If I do, I’ll eat some berries. If I tire of that, I’ll eat some fruit. If I tire of that, I’ll go back to fish,” Snufkin explained, staring down at the expressionless creature, “and, like all things, the cycle repeats.”

For his friend, this did seem to make sense. He seemed fond of routine, though he still managed to do it in a way that made every day new, different even. He could make something as simple as eating fish sound like the will of the world, which was so very him, indeed. Everything felt so purposeful and exact, even something so mundane. It felt important, when it was something Snufkin was doing.

Still, Moomin frowned. Fishing might be a chore to himself, but it didn’t seem like so to his friend. He’d offer to have him over at time, and every once in a while Snufkin would even accept, though that mostly happened on days where fishing was out of the question entirely such as during a storm or a drought, which were not often occurrences but were certainly not as rare as would be calming. “You sure you wouldn’t like to mix it up and come over to my house for dinner tonight? Mama made soup,” he offers, anyway, though he knows the answer even as the words leave his tongue.

“Why, I couldn’t waste this perfectly good fish, now could I?” The nomad grins, “though soup does sound lovely. I think I’ll turn it to a fish soup tonight, in your honor.”

Moomin laughed and blushed the same. He did that at times with Snufkin, and it was a combination he never seemed to feel in the presence of anybody else.

As Moomin returned to Moominhouse, he spotted a stray cat that came around sometimes, a fish of its own in it’s jaw. Moomin thought this funny, but doesn’t think it much.)

 

When Snufkin wasn’t fishing, he’d be wandering.

Wandering was another thing Snufkin did so well and so often, it became more than just a thing one did and more a thing of which Snufkin was. He was a nomad, a vagabond, a wanderer; he’d go whenever he wanted and go wherever he liked, even if he had no idea where he was going.

Snufkin would be gone for days at a time, every once in a while, and return as if he were never gone. Sometimes he’d say where he was- fishing at a rare location, following the pull of nature. Other times, there would be a change in topic. Moomin had come to learn to respect that yearning for privacy, and when Snufkin didn’t seem interested in talking, Moomin would simply sit quietly next to him or talk about himself. As long as Snufkin returned, eventually, it didn’t all that much matter where he’d been.

Of course, Moomin would always still wonder.

He’d told Moomin before he wasn’t sure why he wandered, either. He’d said it was a thing he always felt he had to do, and a pull to go was always there, casting him away like the line of his fishing pole. To him, it was nature, and to go against nature was never right.

Moomin knew this, as he’d been awake rather than hibernating a few times, and had either been tired when the weather was warm and he should have been bounding full of energy or he’d be sick and hardly able to get out of bed at all. He wonders how Snufkin may have learned this lesson himself, but doesn’t ask.

Though he doesn’t shelter all of his questions from the mumrik.  

 

(“Don’t you miss Moominvalley when you go?” Moomin had asked, the first time he’d come back from his winter trip. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one of longing and sadness he’d not felt for anybody else, and hadn’t felt until yet.

Snufkin seemed surprised by the question, having been the first time being asked. It was a wonder if anybody ever had seen him return to any place at all, really. Him coming back to Moominvalley when the snow cleared and the sun shone brightly once more had seemed to shock Snufkin more than any other resident, peculiar a thought as it was.

Perhaps he’d not meant to have come back at all, and returned as though the wind pushed him back this way without his knowing, guided him towards Moomin without recognition until the valley entered view and he decided the wind had it right after all.

“Well,” he introduced, “I’m not sure how much it is the valley that I miss.”

Moomin hadn’t understood what he meant. Perhaps Snufkin hadn’t, either. “Why return at all, then?” He’d asked, almost fretfully.

Calm eyes meet his own. “Perhaps I’ll find that out some other time, but I have to return to find out.”

The troll wasn’t content with the answer. He’d never met someone as work-around as Snufkin, and though he’d known him a full three seasons since the comet, he still hadn’t understood how to decipher the words. “You don’t know why you return, then.”

Snufkin had smiled softly. “No, not really. I follow my instincts, and let them guide me where I should go. I trust them, as they’ve yet to falter, you know.”

“No, I don’t. Your instincts you say? Like a bird migrating south for the winter, so do you, then?”

Snufkin pondered this for a moment. “A bird, huh. Strange, as I’ve always travelled alone, and most birds would be too sad to do that. Same for birds being loud and troublesome where I’d rather sit by the water and enjoy the sun. I like to take my time and fish so they’ll come to me and I’ll have earned a meal, and birds have the will to dive right down and grab them whenever they feel like it. They’re much too impatient to be a fair comparison. Though I see where you’re coming from, I wouldn’t think me like a bird much at all.”

Moomin considered. Not a bird then, no. It seemed impossible to pin down what Snufkin was, and didn’t feel necessary, either. Snufkin was his own person, and certainly not a bird of any sort.

Of course, Moomin can’t stop thinking, anyway. It didn’t matter at all, to him, but was still fun to note. “Sounds to me like you’re describing a wild cat, you know. They sort of just go wherever, though they always do end up somewhere, don’t they,” he supposed, and Snufkin stared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the sun peacefully.

“Let’s let the setting sun decide that for us, hmm?”

When he’d left that winter, Moomin’s heart ached another time. He wondered if Snufkin’s ached a similar way, and why that was.)

 

Snufkin slept a lot, as well. Under his tent, usually, or under the stars.

Sniff would usually come and go from his home to Moominhouse, dependant on if there was room made up or if he was too tired to walk home. It never seemed to bother Sniff if he slept one place or another, and he was always grateful to sleep in general.

Little My stayed with the Moomins frequently and for long periods at a time. Her sister, Mymble, stayed quite a walk away and for Little My the distance equated to peace. Peace, of which to Little My translated to boredom; boredom, on her, was not a good look. It would usually end in chaos and disaster as she’d feel the need to fill the space with her own shenanigans rather than focus her energy on ones ensuing, which often happened when Moomin and the others were around. Lately, the Inspector had been over at Mymble’s house more often, which seemed all the more reason for Little My to stay with the Moomins.

Snorkmaiden wasn’t often over to spend the night, though she would take to Moominhouse during hibernation some winters, or save herself a travel home in the dark after a busy day. Her brother, Snork, stayed even less often. Still, the two were regular enough to have their beds set up at all times unless a new houseguest needed them more, as Moominhouse was always open to others.

Snufkin, however, would never stay at Moominhouse unless there was some emergency or situation that made it so. Moomin often wondered- still does, though he thinks it rude of himself at times- why Snufkin would prefer a drafty old tent to a roof and the comfort of company during rest. Rude, because his friends are all different in their own ways, and he might not understand everything they do, but that doesn’t mean he should think oddly of it. No, Snufkin prefers to rest in solitude and wherever he decides his tent should be pitched for the night and that’s just the way it was, for him.

 A few times, Moomin had found him sleeping in random places during the day, without his tent and where the sun would touch him. He remembers the time he’d fallen asleep fishing, and looked so peaceful and relaxed by the stream and under the sun that it would have been a gorgeous sight, if not for the fact that he was about to be crushed by the giant boulder he’d slept under.

 

(“You could have died, Snufkin, if we hadn’t woken you! You’ve got to be more careful where you choose to nap,” Moomin scolded, sounding exactly like Moominpappa, in that moment. Snufkin seemed to find this funny, as he looked unbothered in the slightest.

“I’m sorry for the scare and grateful for the wake up call, then,” he says with a vibrato to his tone, as though you could hear his smile. Moomin blinked at the sound, realizing what it sounded like, and flushed at the thought. Was Snufkin… No way, of course not, but it sure did sound like a purr, didn’t it?

Snorkmaiden, who’d been the one to find him, sighed. “You don’t sound very sorry. Poor Moomin nearly had a heart attack at the thought of you getting crushed so suddenly like that, and I wasn’t much better off!”

The noise Snufkin made quieted down. At this, he did have the grace to look bashful. Snorkmaiden continued; “Moomin is right, you know. Whatever are you doing sleeping this far out without even your tent pitched?”

Snufkin seemed to take a moment, as though unsure why the question was being asked. “The sun is shining so greatly, why would I nap under my tent when I could warm up under its heat? Next to the water, where I can leave my rod and close my eyes as I wait, too? The rocks were very flat and smoothed over from the water over the years, too, making the ground just as comfortable as it needed for me to nap right where I was.”

Moomin quietly thought this answer funny, and loudly told him to be more careful and watch where he slept. He pointedly doesn’t mention the purring- the very cat-like purring, which did nothing but catch Moomin’s attention. It made Moomin think of cats through the whole conversation, and the more Snufkin insisted on napping under the sun like one, the more Moomin began to silently wonder.

The warning must have worked some, for the next time he’d caught him lazing about during the day, it was against a tree stump he was lying stomach-down over. It looked awkward and possibly painful to sleep like that, but he also looked so relaxed that Moomin hadn’t the heart to wake him, despite his doubts. At least he was safer, there.)

 

These were all very Snufkin-like things to do. He’d never catch Sniff patiently fishing under the sun in a million years, nor Little My wandering without a destination in mind, nor even Snorkmaiden sleeping anywhere other than a comfortable bed or at least somewhere under the shade.

Yet, oddly enough, Moomin is not the only one who recognizes these traits as unique to Snufkin. In fact, Sniff goes so far as to mention it one day, while he plays with his cat he’d brought over to the Moominhouse for a visit. He’d found him during the comet, and since then, the kitten- almost a cat, now- had been a permanent member of Sniff’s household. Though, Mr. Jelly (as dubbed by Sniff himself) was an outdoor cat, he’d still make his way to Sniff’s home most nights.

“Don’t you think Snufkin is a lot like Mr. Jelly here?” Sniff asks from his place on the couch, stroking the kitten on his lap. Moominpappa and Moominmamma both look over from where they’re sat in the kitchen curiously, while Moomin raises an eyebrow. It had been a quiet night, with no adventure or occurrence to happen and take them away from the peace of the night. The parents played cards at the kitchen table with Little My, who was showing no mercy. She slaps down a card, and Moominmamma giggles while Moominpappa makes a noise of dispair, having lost a turn at her hand.

“What, your cat? How so,” Moomin asks once the noise subsides, unsure if he wants to hear whatever answer Sniff would come up with. He was very creative, that Sniff; he’d be a great writer if he could ever focus his thoughts in one place like Papa, or even learn to write with words more than he knew. Nonetheless, Sniff tended to find patterns in things whether there or not, and he’d draw connections to things not always intended to be connected. Obvious instances may go over his head, but the intricacies of life somehow caught his eye more than others.

Sniff, of course, has one heck of an answer. “Think about it, Moomin. Mr. Jelly likes fish an awful lot, ‘cause he’s a cat, and an outdoor one at all. Y’know who else likes fish?”

“Eagles?” Little My guesses. She’d straightens her deck of cards messily with one hands and chews on some cookies with the other, very enamoured by the flavor and therefore much too preoccupied to participate much else.

“No- well, yes I suppose, but no! _Snufkin!_ He’s always fishing. It’s funny, isn’t it?”

Little My and Moomin stare at each other. Sniff doesn’t waste their time, and continues onto his next point; “Mr. Jelly is an outdoor kitty, too. He goes where he wants and comes back when he feels like it, and I miss him all the while he’s gone. Sound familiar, Moomin?”

Moomin crosses his arms, but can feel the heat in his own face. Thank goodness Snorkmaiden wasn’t there; she and her brother were both at their own house, Snork apparently sick and Snorkmaiden taking care of her brother. Moomin had been by earlier that day to check on them, and he didn’t look too bad, but Snorkmaiden insisted on him staying in the house until the bug passed over. Had she been here, she may have commented on the flush in his face.

“So cats like fish and wandering, and so does Snufkin! A funny thought, but it doesn’t mean much,” Moomin huffs, annoyed, though more at himself than the concept. Cat’s were silly creatures, ones that were very picky on who they liked, and how much they liked them. They were cute, sure, but meant to be free at heart. It was silly of Sniff to keep one as a pet, though it did seem quite content in the moment, on his lap. To compare Snufkin to something so picky was-

… Not to far off base, actually. Snufkin was never big on company, was he? Though, he seemed fond of Moomin, same as Mr. Jelly was of Sniff. Moomin had to begrudgingly (and as silently as possible) agree, for the idea was ridiculous but in some surreal way, it wasn’t much off base.

Moomin places his paws on his hips and frowns, determined not to let Sniff win. It felt like an argument, though he knew it wasn’t, and he couldn’t place why he’d feel so. “Well, Mr. Jelly here is fluffy and covered in fur, and he purrs and has claws and fangs the same. It’s what makes him a cat, and not a Snufkin.”  

“ _Well_ ,” starts Sniff, drawing out his letters in a both riveting and irking sense. Moomin regrets arguing already, and figures he should have kept quiet, just to rush the conversation by leaving it nothing more than a comment. “Unless I’m mistaken, we’ve never seen Snufkin with his clothes off. So he _could_ have fur like a cat, and we just don’t know about it! I’ve never seen his boots off, so he could have claws, too. And fangs, since I’ve not seen him yawn widely to show them off!” Sniff grows more excited as he continues, “And Snufkin totally purrs! Perhaps not like a cat, but he’s made sounds only Snufkin could make and only at his best, no doubt. That counts as a purr, you’d describe it no different if you had to!”

Little My is cackling from the table. “He’s right, you know! Moomin, remember when you picked a splinter off his thumb and kissed it better without him asking, and he purred for half an hour after? That’s very cat-esque, if you ask me!”

Moominpappa chuffs as he leans against the counter while Moominmamma watches in amusement. “Did he, now?” Papa asks, smile clear in his voice.

Moomin rubs his arm and stares holes in the floor. Certainly not for a _whole_ half an hour, he hadn’t, but purr he had. “Oh… well, I suppose he did… But he’s still not enough like a cat to crack jokes, Sniff, you’re only sounding silly.”

Sniff laughs. “Oh ho ho! That’s where you’re wrong, Moomin my friend! Mr. Jelly here, as another example, scared the flip out of me the other night when he pushed a plate off the counter in complete darkness yet cunning skill. Cat’s can see in the dark, you know. And as a fact, so can Snufkin. I know _I_ can’t do that; Little My, Moominmamma and Moominpappa, can you?”

The residents shake their heads. Moomin can’t argue, though he thinks he might like to. Yet, he can’t, for Snufkin- unlike the rest of them, yet very much like Mr. Jelly- _could_ see in the dark.

They’d found this out first when exploring a cave near the lake with the Golden Fish, in which Snufkin had pointed out a beautiful flower hidden in a rock crevice nobody else could see until Moomin shone a candlelight on it. He’d shown off this ability a few times since, and Moomin had always thought it rather cool and extremely useful for a traveler such as he.

Still, it was wobbly evidence. Moomin says as such, ignoring Little My’s entertained scoff and Sniff’s redundant huff.

“Okay, fine. Stronger evidence is what you want?” Sniff challenges, and before Moomin can retaliate with a bold _not really,_ Sniff was off again. “Mr. Jelly here also loves naps in the sun, and you know who I saw sleeping against a wooden post over by my place this morning, _despite_ the fact that he already has a tent he could be using?”

“Who?” Little My asks, and Sniff blinks dumbly. Little My bursts out laughing, and the moment he catches onto the joke, he groans.

“Ya, hahaha, but for _real_ you guys! He basks in the sun like a cat, and sleeps outside like one!”

Little My nods slowly, then seems to catch herself and spins around in her chair. “Lots of people sleep outside and bask in the sun,” she snaps, though her tone sounds almost amused, “would you compare them _all_ to cats?”

Sniff frowns. “If they were all like Snufkin, which can be said of nobody I know in Moominvalley, then sure. I think Snufkin may be a cat! At least, like, _part_ cat.”

“Do you think so?” a voice appears from the window. Sniff yells out in fear, nearly dropping Mr. Jelly, but he grabs him it time to flop dramatically off the couch and onto the floorboards. Little My laughs harder somehow, and Moomin turns to face the window and finds Snufkin there, leaning against it and watching Sniff cower almost fondly.

“Snufkin!” He greets, excitedly. Snufkin tilts his hat back at him, and Sniff hops up from the floor, holding his cat tightly. Mr. Jelly doesn’t look too happy about this, but he isn’t trying to get away, either.

Sniff points at Snufkin accusingly. “You see? Mr. Jelly likes to sit on the windowsill the same as you’re doing now, Snufkin! You must be part cat, aren’t you?”

The vagabond laughs, but doesn’t change where he’s positioned, which doesn’t help his case. He’s leaning through the window, which was opened to let the fresh air in, with his paw propping up his chin and the other laid across, leaning in for the best view of them all. Moomin _had_ seen Mr. Jelly do something very similar, once, though he’d never seen the cat rest his chin on his paw.

Moomin can’t help but chuckle as well. It _wasn’t_ ridiculous, not really, especially looking at Snufkin now. He did tend to act quite like a cat, and Moomin liked cats, just as he liked Snufkin.

Though, perhaps, not quite in the same way.

“Sniff, you’d find patterns anywhere,” the troll pouts, but rolls his eyes endearingly.

Sniff lifts Mr. Jelly into the air. _“This_ cat is not much different from _that_ Snufkin! I’m not being crazy, am I?”

Snufkin snorts, and he’s making that noise again, to which Sniff looks like he’s been rewarded with a prize of sorts. “No, no, not crazy,” the mumrik admits. His eyes meet Moomin’s, soft as the sound under his throat, and the troll suddenly can’t recall why he’d been getting so worked up. He blinks slowly at Moomin, eyes so very, very soft. “I do admit I like cats quite a bit- perhaps I’ve assimilated some of their personality traits, or they some of mine, for cats quite like me a lot too.”

Little My snorts and takes another bite of her cookie. “‘S not just cats that like you,” she says, eyeing Moomin from the side. Moomin does not catch this look, but Snufkin traces her eye-line back to him, and blinks at the realization.

The rumble he emits gets just a little louder, but only Little My knows why.

**Author's Note:**

> Snufkin: does literally anything  
> Moomin: heart eye emoji but like super casually
> 
> (thanks Sam for the slow blinking suggestion!)


End file.
